


Good Officers

by Alley_Skywalker



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, post-TFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7701982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux and Phasma are two of the First Order's finest. In some ways, that makes them perfect for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Officers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musamihi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musamihi/gifts).



“FN Unit. Merged from FS Unit and this year’s trainee graduates. Unbloodied… Well, perhaps we can change that sometime soon.” General Hux looked up from the datapad in his hands. “Captain Phasma, remove your helmet, please.”

Phasma did as asked, though she really hated that her unit hadn’t even been at its new assignment for two days and already her General was taking issue with her helmet. She _liked_ having it on in front of her troops for a reason. It gave her some professional distance which she felt was necessary for command. But apparently only Kylo Ren was allowed to keep a helmet on at all times. Even though his looked more like a bucket. 

Hux was studying her, she realized. He had given the perfect formation lines of her Stormtroopers only a cursory glance, but he was studying her face now with a curious intensity. “I was told you asked to be given this posting, Captain.”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Why? Most try to avoid the Outer Rim.” 

“I like to be where the action is, sir.”

“The _Finalizer_ has not seen action in months.”

Phasma wondered if this was some kind of test. She could not get anything from Hux’s composed, nearly blank, expression, and it mildly bothered her that she wasn’t able to read him. “I heard we were bound for Starkiller Base. A weapon of that caliber never goes without action for long.”

The corners of Hux’s mouth twitched upwards. “We may need to make a detour first.” 

“I can wait.”

That same almost-smile. “You’ll like this one, Captain. A chance to finally get your troops bloodied.” He stepped back to show that the conversation was over. “Dismissed.” 

She watched him walk away, back straight, focused on wherever he was going next. Very young for a general, Phasma noticed. She also noticed that she did not particularly dislike him, despite the fact that he had made her remove her helmet in front of her troops. 

*~*

Hux was staring intently at a set of maps projected out before him but something told Phasma he wasn't thinking about them. "What's on your mind?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral. Ever since FN-2187's betrayal, Hux had been thoughtful and it was putting her on edge. 

"I'm thinking that perhaps we ought to recalibrate our training techniques somewhat."

"How so?"

"We do well with discipline but I ordered unit cohesion reports and the results aren't particularly reassuring. So I'm considering instituting some sort of...team building technique. I've read some on this and the Academy implements some of these methods successfully. The focus is on leadership from commanding officers and on camaraderie in the ranks."

Phasma could sympathize with Hux’s obvious distaste at the idea, so she was unsure why he was even suggesting it. "A storm trooper's, and an officer's, first loyalty ought to be to the First Order and only to the Order."

"I'm not arguing with that." Hux collapsed the holographic maps and waved for Phasma to follow him from the conference room. "But our propaganda experts tell me that the important thing is to find an emotional connection to something or someone that people have and exploit it. Usually, the connection is fundamentally to other people." 

Phasma mulled this over as they made their way to the command deck lifts at the end of the hall. "Is loyalty to the Order not connection and inspiration enough?"

"The First Order is an idea, really. Something lofty but distant. Most people don't have the capacity for grasping such things. They need something...more lowly to give themselves to." The lift doors opened. 

Phasma took several brisk steps forward, stopping short of the lift, even as Hux go in. "But your loyalty is first and foremost to the Order, General."

Hux gave a thin-lipped smile. "I'm not most people."

"Well, _my_ loyalty is also first—"

"Give yourself some credit, Captain," Hux said as the lift doors slid shut.

*~*

They sat in Hux's quarters, across each other, with a bottle of whisky between them. Seeing Hux drink anything stronger than wine was odd and it spoke volumes about what he was feeling these days. For a while, logistical matters took over their conversation, but they fell silent soon after, both focused on their drinks more than each other. 

Phasma wondered what he was thinking about but felt like she had no right to ask. She hardly felt like she had a right to anything anymore. The disgrace of what she had done at Starkiller still haunted her. Others might say that she had had no choice, that anyone would have lowered those shields with a blaster to their head. But she wasn't "anyone" and the reasons hardly mattered. The First Order always came first, before everything else, even one's life. But she had given into her survival instincts, compromising because she believed in the skill of her troops. And, because of that, Starkiller had fallen. 

That she was still not only alive but also a Stormtrooper Captain was a miracle in and of itself. One she owed to Hux. Hux who hadn't been quite the same since then. It she had been vain, Phasma might have thought that Hux had not wanted to lose another thing he cared about in such quick succession. But Phasma was not vain, nor was she naive.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, not meeting his eyes. 

Hux didn't bother telling her to not worry about it or that it was alright. They both knew it wasn't. "Weapons can be rebuilt. Good officers are hard to come by."

Phasma finally found it in herself to look at him. "Thank you." She wasn't sure what she was thanking him for: allowing her to keep her rank and posting or still speaking to her. Probably both. 

Hux finished off his glass. "You’re welcome."

*~*

Hux's ears rang as he made his way from the hanger bay to the bridge. He could hear Phasma's heavy footfall behind him and had already resigned himself to what she would have to say. But he had more pressing problems – like why there were significant breaches in their outer shields and he had not been informed. The Resistance had nearly destroyed their entire satellite command outpost because they had not been prepared to be reached through the outer shields. 

"General." 

Hux pointedly stayed silent and continued his trek down the long white hallway. He could feel the warm, sticky build-up of blood at his temple and the trail it left along his neck. But that wasn't important right now. 

"General, you really ought to go to the medbay." Phasma's voice sounded unnatural through her helmet. 

Hux scowled and continued walking. "I must get to the bridge. We lost the commanding outpost, we have, apparently unknown, breaches in our outer shields, S-squadron is losing position – and that's only the problems I know about.”

"Kylo Ren has the bridge."

He scoffed. " _Kylo Ren_."

"And General Kosacheck."

"Enough, Captain. The medbay can wait. It's nothing but a flesh wound." The hallway tilted dangerously and Hux held out a hand to steady himself against the wall. "What the—?" After a few moments the vertigo passed. 

"Still unconvinced?"

Hux whirled around and nearly fell over again. Black spots appeared in his line of vision. "You're forgetting yourself, Captain! The Order comes first."

"Much good you can do the Order, General, when you can barely stand."

"This sort of insubordination is impossible. Whatever our friendship, Captain—" He was forced to break off as the hallway tilted again. Phasma had not moved at all. So it was vertigo and not the alarming careening of the Finalizer. "I will go to the medbay after I am convinced we have figured out what is happening with our shields," he conceded. 

"General Kosacheck is perfectly competent to handle the situation. It will be far more useful to the Order if you are in good shape for the debrief and re-strategy meetings. General."

Hux squinted from the bright light. He would never be able to stay still long enough for a medic to look him over. Not with the battle happening. But Phasma had a point and she was never afraid to stare him down, even though he outranked her. Not when she thought she was acting for the good of the Order.

Phasma pulled her helmet off with a sharp yank. "For once, can you not be so stubborn, Armitage?"

Hux found himself oddly transfixed by the way her blond hair had fuzzed under the helmet. "No one has called me that in years."

"If they had, would you be any less stubborn?"

"Probably not." Hux ran a hand over his face. It came away stained with blood. "Alright, fine. I will go to the medbay. But don't follow me. Go to the bridge and keep me informed of everything by comm."

Something vaguely resembling a smile tugged at her features. "Yes, sir."

*~*

Hux did not like to be distracted. Not even on quiet nights, or in the shower after training. Yet, this was definitely distracting and, oddly enough, he did not mind. 

Phasma’s skin was sleek with water under his hands and her lips were hot against his. Her fingers traced the web of scars on his chest and crawled up along his neck into his wet hair. The smoothness of her breasts and stomach gave way to a rough patch of scar tissue on her left side – an old battle wound. 

Hux closed his eyes and allowed the rare almost-tenderness of their stolen moment to wash over him. No one knew him as well as she did; no one understood him the way she did. So it only made sense that they would share this – the physical manifestation of what intimacy their lives allowed. 

Phasma tasted of fresh mint as her lips covered his. There was no battle in their kissing, no frantic scramble for domination. They had enough of that during the rest of their day. Hux closed his eyes against the spray of water from the showerhead, against the excess of sensation, the freedom of movement out of uniform and out of sight of people who were constantly judging him, measuring him up, expecting him to lead and to win. 

He wondered, vaguely, what she felt when they did this, what she was thinking about. She never moaned when his lips brushed the crux of her neck but she threw her head back to expose as much skin as possible. She never asked him for more and she never asked him to stop. At some point, the water would become more cool than warm and they would step apart and quickly finish their respective shower routines before stepping out and toweling off with military efficiency and precision. 

They never talked about it. There wasn’t really anything to say. 

*~*

Things were going terribly. Hux had asked to be put in a fighter half an hour ago. 

Phasma was a good fighter, a good soldier, but she wasn't a strategist or tactician. Not the way Hux was, but even she knew that they had to hold this system if they had any chance to standing firm against the Resistance. She could also see that their center was caving and their flanks were hopelessly engaged and unable to fold in to bolster the center. 

"We need to try for the Delphi V maneuver." Hux's voice came over the comm in a crackle. "We'll lose men but it's the only way to push back hard enough to allow our artillery some breathing room and give the rear of our flanks time to re-group and bolster the center."

Chatter over the comm as various officers, some still on the bridge, discussed the idea. "It's going to take quite a rally," one of them said finally. "Who will lead the charge?"

There was a pause, but Phasma knew by the time Hux's comm. channel came to life again. "I will." 

More chatter, positioning orders given out. Phasma switched to a private line. "General, this is suicide."

"Probably." Hux's voice sounded dry. "Anything for the Order, though. You know that."

"There's no need for you to lead the charge."

"Yes, there is. The men need a leader for something like this; someone who has already proven their dedication to the Order. Someone they would follow... I can't lead from behind the front lines, Phasma. Not for this."

She knew that. But it was still hard to let him go. "What about good officers being difficult to come by?"

"Difficult. Not impossible."

She kept thinking that she would miss his smile in the afterglow or his tousled hair first thing in the morning. She would miss catching a glimpse of his silhouette framed against the bright streaks of hyperspace in the viewport of the bridge as she made her rounds and the determined notes in his voice when he gave the order to _fire_. She would miss him saying her name. "We will miss you, General."

"Well, don't have my funeral quite yet." He sounded almost cheerful over the comm. Phasma took a breath to speak but the flashing light on her comm. dash informed her that Hux had switched back to the general line. "All units, to me."

Their formation rearranged. Phasma, who was in charge of holding down the rearguard, could not see Hux's fighter from her new position. There was not much she could say now over the general comm. line. Only the thing they all understood. "For the First Order, General."

"For the First Order, Captain."

"All units are in position."

"Forward!"


End file.
